


.Tapes

by Sodding_Malfoy (TheQueenAt17)



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - No Pennywise (IT), Christmas, Gay Stanley Uris, IT Secret Santa, M/M, Secret Santa, Stozier, cassette tapes, just set in winter because i dont know enough about hannuka, past stan/mike
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-26 07:44:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17137781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheQueenAt17/pseuds/Sodding_Malfoy
Summary: When Stan starts his second year of college, he instantly hates his new roommate. But will Richie be able to win him over with his cassette tape obsession? Secret Santa for @sadlysaraofthelosers on tumblr.





	.Tapes

**Author's Note:**

> My secret santa for @sadlysaraofthelosers for the @itfandomprompts event on Tumblr! Sorry its late, hope you like it. See the end notes for the spotify playlist I made for this fic. Feedback is welcome!

When Stan had collected his key from the front desk, he’d been prepared for having an unbearable roommate. He didn’t expect them to be friends, necessarily, but in the worst-case scenario he thought that maybe they’d be able to ignore each other. At least long enough to get through the year in one piece. But later, standing in the doorway of what should have been his dorm room, Stan realised how naïve he’d been.

He dropped his bags into the only patch of clear floor space he could see and sighed, wading through the piles of debris to what he thought could be his bed. If there was one thing he couldn’t stand, it was mess. Stan could already imagine how terrible the next year would be if he stayed here. In fact, he didn’t know why he hadn’t applied for a transfer already – surely, he should phone the accommodation liaison while his mysterious roommate was out somewhere else. 

He looked across to the messiest side of the room. He wouldn’t be able to transfer without a good reason, he knew from experience, but maybe there was something here that he could use as evidence that they didn’t get along – maybe an anti-gay poster, or a political t-shirt – just something that would prove a ‘clash in values.’ 

Stan snorted. As though a lack of basic cleanliness wasn’t a big enough thing to clash over. 

After making his way to his roommate’s desk, he bent down, to have a look, hand on his knees. When there was nothing incriminating on the top – just a collection of candy wrappers and packets – he pulled out one of the boxes that had been stashed away underneath and opened the lid. 

Inside were rows of cassette tapes, some of them of bands Stan didn’t even know you could get on cassette; The Cure, Led Zeppelin, The Ramones, even one called Wolf Alice, a group that Stan was pretty sure had started making music long after tapes had become obsolete. In the next box he found more of the same. 

One thing was for sure, his roommate was not only messy but also a complete weirdo. Who would take the effort to transfer music from a CD onto a cassette tape, if they’re not weird? 

Suddenly, he felt guilty. His mind was taken back to his school days, when he used to be called a freak for wearing a kippah or for getting stressed out when there was an uneven number of pens in his pocket. Maybe he was being a bit too harsh. It was unlikely, but maybe Stan just had the wrong end of the stick. He hadn’t even seen the guy yet, after all, and what if he was actually alright to talk to? 

Stan sighed, swiping his arm across his mattress to brush piles of his roommate’s underwear, comics and pencils to the floor, and began the process of moving in. He’d give it a week. Just a week, he told himself, and if it was absolutely insufferable, he would see about changing rooms. 

But it was going to be a long week. 

*** 

“Who the fuck does work on the first day of college?” 

Stan rolled his eyes and didn’t reply, focusing on the blinking cursor on his laptop screen. He was quite glad that he already had an assignment, actually, because it gave him a brilliant excuse to ignore his boisterous roommate. 

Their first meeting had been awkward at best, his roommate – who had later introduced himself as Richie – barging in to find Stan meticulously dusting his side of the room. He had beamed and ran over, sticking a hand out to be shaken and babbling at decibel levels that could only be described as inhuman. Stan had just ignored him until he went away. 

Obviously, Richie was unperturbed, as he was still trying to start a conversation, looking over Stan’s shoulder and asking endless questions (“What does ‘demographic’ mean?”) about his work for Introduction to Business. 

He tuned him out, instead focussing on the music coming from the cassette player – ‘Simple Season’ by Hippo Campus – which was actually just calm enough to help him relax. 

Richie leaned once more over his shoulder, pointing at the screen. “Wait... there. You’ve written ‘scold’ instead of ‘sold’. Spellcheck won’t pick up on that since it’s a real word.” 

“Oh yeah, thanks.” Stan cursed internally as he looked up to where his roommate was pointing. “Don’t you have any work to do?” 

Richie smiled infuriatingly and reclined back onto his own bed. “Nope!” He popped the ‘p’. “I don’t have to do anything but relax my fingers, babe.” 

“Your fingers?” Stan turned away from his laptop, fighting the blush that threatened to come upon hearing the pet name. 

“Oh yeah, I play guitar, didn’t you know?” 

Stan shook his head. 

“Damn! Well, if you’re a good boy I’ll play for you sometime, I guess.” 

“I’ll pass,” he sighed, but Richie ignored him in favour of whistling to the music. After a minute, Stan realised he’d been tapping his own fingers to the beat. 

*** 

Richie was already gone when Stan had woken up on Tuesday, and for some reason he couldn’t help but feel disappointed. That was stupid, of course – seeing Richie was the last thing he wanted. Or at least that’s what he told himself. He got dressed and left with minimal fuss, which last year he would have loved, but now felt was profoundly wrong. 

He was sitting in the back row of a lecture theatre, eyes drooping with fatigue and the collar of his shirt digging into his neck, wanting nothing more than to go back to his room and sleep. He had spent most of the night awake, stressing about the paper he had to finish, and about how little he actually wanted to write it. He was confident that he could get a good grade – but God it was so boring. 

He slouched down in his seat, far enough that Mr. Sampson couldn’t see him, and laid his head back on the wooden chair back. He closed his eyes and blocked the lecturer’s voice out. He just hoped he didn’t start snoring. 

Shoulders loosening, he started to relax as the voices around him became a low monotonous buzz. Perfect bliss. He sighed happily, feeling himself begin to drift off. 

The door banged open, shocking him awake and back into an upright position. “Oh sorry!” yelled a very familiar voice over the blasting of a handheld speaker. “Wrong room!” 

Everyone turned to stare at Richie, who had begun to leave the room again, exiting to the very apt tune of ‘Talk too Much’ by COIN. Mr Sampson sighed. 

“Alright, class dismissed. Go home and get on with your essays while I go and track down Mr. Tozier.” 

Stan closed his eyes again in victory, then reached down and hurriedly stuffed his books back into his bag. For once, thank fuck for Richie! 

With a newfound spurt of energy, he pulled himself to his feet and forced himself through the crowd that was congregating on the stairs. He pushed the door open with both of his hands – free at last! – and forced himself out into the bright sunlight, taking in a gulp of fresh air and taking off in the direction of the dormitories. 

When he hurried past the place where Mr. Sampson was laying into an innocent-faced Richie, he could’ve sworn he saw his roommate wink. 

*** 

With Wednesday came heavy snowfall, and with snowfall came news of lesson cancellations after lesson cancellations. Stan laid on his bed, chin resting on his hand and legs in the air, crossed at the ankle. Richie was sitting cross legged on top of his own duvet. They both stared out the window. 

“Do you ever feel sorry for the animals, when it’s like this?” Richie asked. 

“I don’t really like to think about it.” 

“Well nobody likes to, but I can’t seem to help it sometimes.” 

Stan tore his eyes away from the snowy scene in front of him and turned his head to look at Richie. Their eyes met. “Yeah, I get that. I wonder where all of the campus rabbits go when it’s this cold. And how the birds cope with their nests being frozen over.” 

“I suppose they’re probably fine,” he replied, shrugging and scratching his face absentmindedly. “I mean, they’ve lived through winters before, right?” 

“Yeah, you’re right. What’s got you so concerned about animals all of a sudden?” 

“Why, am I not allowed?” 

Stan frowned, then shrugged. “Sure, you are, I just didn’t recon you would.” 

“We’ve only known each other a few days,” Richie pouted, “I think it's fair to say you don’t know everything about me. I love animals, dude.” 

Stan smiled, thinking back to the previous winter spent on his ex-boyfriend Mike’s family farm. “I love them too. Have you ever had to brush snow out of a sheep’s wool? It’s so weird, because on the top it's so cold and wet, but at the same time it’s warm and soft underneath.” 

“That sounds nice.” 

“Yeah! Not that they’re probably supposed to play outside in it anyway, but it seems impossible to keep them all inside for the whole winter.” 

“I can imagine. I used to have a friend that lived on a sheep farm. Haven’t talked to him in a while, actually – maybe I should ask him if I can go and feel some moist wool.” Richie stuck out his tongue. “I wonder what he’d say to that.” 

Stan laughed. “Probably nothing good if you phrased it like that. Perhaps I should give Mike a ring, see if we can go visit?” 

“Wait,” Richie said, now giving Stan his full attention, “do you mean Mike Hanlon? THE Mike Hanlon? Who I used to go to school with?” 

“Well if you went to Derry North, yeah, I suppose you must’ve done." His brow furrowed slightly. “That’s so weird, what a coincidence! I didn’t ever expect to find someone from Derry all the way out here.” 

“Why didn’t I see you around school too, then?” 

Stan shook his head. “I didn’t go there, I met Mike when we were little, at Boy Scouts.” 

“Wait, I remember now – didn’t you two date for a while? He talked about you quite a bit.” 

“Yeah, and what about it?” Stan bristled. “You have a problem with that?” 

Richie’s eyes widened in surprise. “No, of course not! I was just saying.” 

“Oh. Well, good. My past roommates usually tried to switch rooms when they found out I was gay, as if I was going to start spying on them in the shower or something. Which I don’t, by the way.” Stan began to relax again, and laid back down to look at the snow out of the window. 

“Shame that. I’ve got a cracking bod. You’d be falling over yourself to ask me out.” 

“Richie!” 

*** 

Stan’s breath misted in front of him, yellowed slightly by the artificial light coming through the window. One earbud rested in his ear. He was sat on the low wall just outside of the dormitories, red nose poking out over his tightly wound green scarf. 

“What are you doing out here, stranger?” 

He turned to see Richie standing in the doorway, hands jammed in his pockets and coat unzipped. 

Stan smiled. “I could ask you the same thing.” 

“Couldn’t sleep.” Coming to sit down next to him, Richie’s teeth began to chatter. 

“Yeah, me neither,” Stan admitted, then tutted; “you’re going to catch your death out here like that.” He reached over and grabbed the zipper on Richie’s jacket, pulling it up to his chin and then pulling up his hood, trying to cover his ears despite his unruly hair getting in the way. 

Richie laughed quietly and leaned forward until his forehead was resting on Stan’s shoulder. “You’re like my little husband.” 

“Yeah right, I hated you at the start of the week,” Stan protested. Nevertheless, a hand snaked around under Richie’s hood to play with his hair. “You’re a menace.” 

Richie nodded. “That I am. But I’m irresistible. Don’t feel too bad about it, everyone gets sucked in eventually. It’s just my miasma.” 

“Your miasma?” Stan raised an unseen eyebrow. 

“Oh, shut up, you know what I mean,” Richie replied with a smile that was lost in Stan’s shoulder. “Anyway, what are you listening to?” He reached around to grab the earbud that was dangling on Stan’s chest and put it into his ear, then sat up and laughed. 

“What! It’s my favourite song!” Stan playfully slapped the back of Richie’s head. 

Richie looked at him incredulously. “This? This is your favourite song? Are you being serious?” 

“Hey, what’s wrong with Mr Brightside?” 

“Nothing, nothing. It’s a good song! I just didn’t expect anyone to call it their favourite. It’s like Bohemian Rhapsody, everyone loves it when it comes on but no one calls it their favourite.” 

“It’s my mom’s favourite.” 

Richie sighed good-naturedly. “Of course, it is. Someone needs to introduce you people to some new music.” 

Richie sat up further, and Stan’s hand fell from his hair. His hand immediately felt the loss, and it took a great deal of willpower not to reach up and pull Richie’s head down onto his chest. He stuffed it into his pocket instead, as though the weird feeling he was getting was lack of warmth and not something else. 

Richie patted his pockets until he found the one that he was looking for, then pulled out a cassette player. “Listen to this one instead.” 

Rolling his eyes, Stan paused his music and pulled out his earbud, replacing it with the one that Richie was offering him. “Oh wait, I think I know this one. It’s by Rex Orange County, right? Mike used to listen to this all the time.” 

“I know,” he laughed, “who do you think got him into it to start with?” 

“Well maybe you should get me into some new music, since you’re the expert.” 

“You know what? Maybe I should. Perhaps I’ll make you a tape.” 

Stan hummed. “Why do you like cassette tapes so much anyway? Why not just put all your music on an iPod, or use CDs?” 

“My dad used to buy me tapes when I was a kid, and it just went from there I guess,” Richie shrugged. “You were probably expecting it to be a long story, but that’s all there is to it. I’ve just always associated them with happy times.” 

Stan smiled and absentmindedly grabbed Richie’s hand. “Nah, I completely understand. It’s like how I’ve kept the cars I used to play with as a kid.” 

“Yeah, I suppose.” Richie laced their fingers tighter and squeezed, looking off into the distance. “You don’t really hate me, do you?” 

“What? Hate you? No, of course not.” Stan’s brow furrowed. “I was wary to start with but certainly not now. I quite like you actually.” 

“Oh good. I quite like you too.” Richie leaned over to rest on Stan’s shoulder, but at the last moment turned his head to brush a feather-light kiss on the hinge of his jaw. 

“Richie?” 

He stood. “It’s getting late. Come on inside before you catch a cold.” He pulled Stan to his feet by the hand. “We should talk more in the morning.” 

“You’re a funny one, Tozier.” 

“Just how you like it.” 

As Stan watched Richie’s retreating back, he couldn’t help but agree. 

*** 

The accommodation office – a place in which Stan found himself far more often than any other student – was small, cramped, and deeply weaved with the smells of lavender and biscuits. He looked across the desk at Mrs Flint, a motherly woman with crinkled skin and a kind smile, as she pushed back a grey hair with one of her delicate fingers. 

“How are you holding up this year, Stan? I was surprised to have not heard from you yet.” She brought up his file on the computer and tapped a few keys on the keyboard. “If you feel like you and your roommate don’t quite fit, there’s a few other people requesting room changes. I’m sure I can arrange something again.” 

Stan smiled and wrapped his fingers around the new cassette tape in his pocket. Richie had given it to him that morning, along with a kiss on the lips and an invitation to dinner. “Not this time, ma’am. I think we’ve finally found a winner. There’s nobody else I’d rather spend my time with at the moment.” 

“I’m glad to hear that, but are you sure? Last year you barely lasted a month before asking to be swapped around. What’s different this time?” 

“There’s something special about this one. I just know it.” He looked behind Mrs Flint at his new boyfriend, who was pulling faces at him through the glass panel of the door. “He’s absolutely perfect, and I wouldn’t have him any other way.”

**Author's Note:**

> Stan's cassette tape from Richie:  
> https://open.spotify.com/user/1132145223/playlist/5QYj4dCHNQ5kZtJbzJSiSV?si=BcUUKnFJTVCcfb3qtKPoIw


End file.
